


my part of the deal

by ylang



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22306585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylang/pseuds/ylang
Summary: The aftermath of the trade.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66





	my part of the deal

**Author's Note:**

> yet another fic based off of a frank ocean song, this time white ferrari. idc if you listen to the song/read the lyrics beforehand, but i think its more fun/sad (depending on how youre feeling) if you do! enjoy, and im sorry

Emily maybe should’ve packed earlier.

It’s a cold mid-March early morning in Portland. And she’s sitting on the floor in her bare apartment, slightly hungover, feeling numb. 

The night before was crazy. A party was thrown, beer was drunk, and drunken tears were shed. Sinc, her captain and her best friend, as she begrudgingly admitted. Tobin, her friend and quiet mentor. Menges, her centerback partner for all four years. Ellie, Kling, Kelli, Elizabeth, Po, Gabby. All of the old Thorns, together, one last time.

Actually, maybe calling it the old Thorns isn’t fair. Emily was the only ‘old Thorn’ there, with Andressinha in Brazil, Caitlin and Hayley in England, Midge already settled in New Jersey. So, as much as she refused to call it her own special goodbye party, it was. There was no ‘end of the era’ celebration because there is no new era. Players move all the time. Emily (and others) switching clubs doesn’t mark a new era. 

Emily shouldn’t have expected to stay in Portland forever.

She got too attached. She forgot about the instability of having a career in sports, the way you are seen as a cog in a wheel, a pawn in a plan. An asset. A statistic. A potential.

(She always hears that word. Potential. She has a lot of it apparently. She doesn’t really know where it all goes, if it goes anywhere at all, or if it just stays with her, piling on like a burden to carry. Because she’s been hearing it since college, and it hasn’t stopped yet.)

She thinks that the biggest problem of getting too attached causes is how it makes packing an absolute hassle. There are too many boxes filled with small decorations Emily had carefully bought after much deliberation, too many nice things that can be easily broken on the flight across the country. She might’ve followed too many interior design accounts, bought too many plants. The boxes tower over her as she leans against the bare white wall, sitting on the ground.

One more is added to the pile by a pair of strong arms.

“Okay, I think that’s the last of it,” Lindsey says, wiping her brow. Emily tries not to look at her flexed arms in her tank top, showing off her shoulders. It’s the last day at Portland, she can’t do this.

Not again.

Emily stands up, slowly, as to not get a headache. 

“Thanks. They’ll be here in twenty minutes to pick them up.” Lindsey nods, walking around the boxes, looking around the apartment. The morning sun shines through the half pulled shades, slats making shadows on the floor. 

Everything feels empty in the apartment. Empty in the air between them. Emily swallows, nothing to say. Lindsey nods once more, to nothing in particular, and taps a couple of the boxes. Emily thinks that it’s the one for pots and pans, scrawled in her messy handwriting on the side, in a big black sharpie that she borrowed from Lindsey. Despite all of the shit in her apartment, she couldn’t bother to have just one.

Emily clears her throat, “Thanks for helping. Thanks for coming at all, really.”

“Why wouldn’t I come?” Lindsey asks.

“Well, you know,” Emily says, gesturing. Lindsey just stares at her blankly, playing dumb. Emily continues, “Just thank you. For doing it.”

“No problem,” Lindsey smiles, but it feels just as empty as Emily’s apartment.

Last night was a blur. 

She remembers when she told Lindsey that she was getting traded. They were at camp, alone in Emily’s room on that first night, watching TV, catching up after being separated for two months. She had been rooming with Andi, who had left to find better WiFi so she can facetime her husband. And once the show had gone to commercials, Emily had turned to Lindsey and said, “I have to tell you something.”

It was the least ideal situation to use that phrase. Emily used all of her practice that didn’t go anywhere. 

Lindsey tried to make her see the bright side, because that’s Lindsey, steady and there for anyone when they need it, kind and open and warm to everybody. Emily didn’t want the same spiel Emma and her parents gave her, that Caitlin gave her, that Mark all but forced down her throat. She doesn’t want what Lindsey would give anyone else if they were going through a hard time.

Maybe she wanted special treatment. Maybe she just wanted Lindsey to be heartbroken and tell her so, right then, face to face, to tell her strongly, lovingly, like she needed Emily. Not in an Instagram post that Emily couldn’t bring herself to respond to. Not at a party with everyone else there.

Emily doesn’t doubt for a second that Lindsey will miss her. She just knows that Lindsey doesn’t need her to be there all of the time, and Emily shamefully feels a hot coil of jealousy wring her heart out anytime she thinks of it. Maybe it’s not jealousy. But it’s something that happens every time she’s looked at Lindsey today.

And it’s probably been taking up all of the space in her head because before Emily knows it, all her stuff is packed in a truck and on its convoluted way to Orlando, to her new apartment. And she’s packed in Lindsey’s white car with her tiny luggage, looking out the window as Lindsey drives to the local radio. Emily thinks that she missed where they passed by Providence Park, a mere two minutes away from Lindsey but it always felt like a mile as they would joke around and talk when Emily would pick her up. Now Lindsey is dropping her off. Maybe missing the sight of Providence Park is for the best, she thinks.

It all feels very mature. Emily is listening to this random man talk about the traffic and the daily weather for a city she won’t step foot in for months, while driving to her new life in silence for the sake of her career.

The man says in a cheerful voice that it’s a beautiful sunny day and Emily has to agree. Portland looks beautiful. It always looked beautiful. Emily always loved the river, the clouds in the sky, the streets filled with color. She loves the slight chill in the air as everyone starts to wake up in the morning. 

Realistically, she’ll see it again. But she’s trying to commit it to memory for some reason.

Then she turns to Lindsey’s profile driving calmly, the angle of her nose, the sharpness of her eyes, the way she leans back while she controls the wheel with one hand, other hand free. Her mind already has it in her memory. But it doesn’t hurt to have one more version. One last one. A small guilty pleasure, before she can’t anymore. She ignores the lurch in her stomach, chalks it up to Lindsey’s driving skills.

Lindsey glances at her, face open but mouth pinched tight. So unlike it how it was.

Before Emily can do something, anything, with her face, with her words, Lindsey turns back to the road. She places her previously unused hand, before lying dangerously between them, now carefully rested on the wheel. 

Emily tries to fall asleep, face pressed to the window of the car, like she’ll stick there and stay forever. She dreams of her bare apartment, soon to belong to someone else, and of a person whose face changes from the head of her dog, Bagel, to a cardboard cut-out of Mark Parsons from the haze of their 2017 championship win, and lastly to Lindsey, all crinkled blue eyes and dimples and rosy cheeks. Dream Lindsey reaches out with familiar hands, hands with white painted nails.

And then Emily wakes up to the feeling of Lindsey tapping her on the shoulder.

“Sonny. Wake up.”

Emily groggily rubs her eyes and blinks to see the entrance to the Portland International Airport. It’s not busy, it’s a random weekday in March, and the thought of how empty it will be, how empty the plane ride will be, makes Emily feel butterflies in her stomach. She can taste tired in her mouth. As soon as she gets through security, she’s going to eat something.

She turns slowly to find Lindsey, on her phone.

“Who’re you texting?” Emily asks quietly, stretching her legs. 

“Uh, Russell,” Lindsey says, not looking up.

Emily nods once, tightly, as she gets out of the car. She doesn’t wait for Lindsey as she lifts open the trunk to pull her suitcase out. There’s a sweatshirt in the back, crumpled and forgotten in the corner. Emily has definitely worn it before. She moves it further into the recesses of the trunk and slams it shut.

She’s met with Lindsey, leaning on the car, hair out of its low ponytail, slightly mussed. 

“So, about uh. Last night,” Lindsey says awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Emily sighs, hefting the suitcase onto the curb. “Look, we didn’t really do anything. We just kissed once. Once. You can tell Russell that I made you do it, if you feel guilty.”

“Sonnett-”

“Horan. Just forget about it. Okay? It was a spur of the moment thing.” Emily turns to start rolling her suitcase to entrance when she feels a hand on her arm, pulling her in another direction.

She turns and Lindsey is right there, arm outstretched and gripping Emily like a vice. She says, “Emily.” And something about it makes Emily want to throw up. 

Lindsey just waits. And stares. No expectations, no potential to be wasted, no sadness. And Emily didn’t understand it before when she told her about the trade, or during camp, or at the party, she hated it actually, but she gets it now. She gets everything, leaving, staying, waiting. 

She can’t hold it back anymore. She can’t just leave her bio up on her socials and pretend that she’s not leaving. 

“I’m- I’m-” Emily stutters, unsure what to say. She tries to keep her voice from cracking. Lindsey doesn’t do anything, hand on Emily’s arm relaxing, and Emily feels want grow slowly in her chest.

So she pulls Lindsey into a hug, arms wrapping around her completely, head tucked into her shoulder, smelling Lindsey’s shampoo. She closes her eyes and gets lost in the feeling of Lindsey being right there next to her, almost like an extension of her body. She closes her eyes and doesn’t commit any images to memory, just this feeling.

“I’m going to miss you,” Lindsey says into Emily’s ear, blowing back her hair and causing her face to grow hot. Emily burrows her head deeper into Lindsey’s neck and those shoulders she always loved.

“I’m going to miss you too,” she says quietly, and suddenly cares less that her voice so clearly breaks in the middle of her sentence. She thinks she’s crying, and feels a drop fall onto Lindsey’s shoulder.

She pulls back, wiping the tears away, tucking her hands into her sweatshirt pockets.

“Goodbye, Linds,” she whispers, looking at the floor, still a mere inches apart.

“Goodbye, Em,” Lindsey says, and when Emily dares to look up, she sees the smallest of smiles on Lindsey’s face, barely creating dimples in each of her cheeks.

Emily starts to leave, angle her body to away to her new life. But she turns back, feeling the imprint of Lindsey’s hand on her arm, like a ghost. She takes one look at Lindsey, standing there waiting by the car that they always drove around in, hair down and shoulder wet from Emily’s tears.

And she takes a couple of steps, big and bounding, and kisses her cheek gently, softly, leaning up and placing her arm on Lindsey’s own. She tastes salt. Her cheek is wet.

Then she finally leaves, eyes only focused on her destination.

\---

Lindsey wakes up hot and humid and sticky. She throws off the sheets clinging to her bare legs and sits up. 

She blinks slowly at the clock on the nightstand. It’s one in the morning. It would be 10pm for Lindsey, if she were back home. But she’s not. She’s in Orlando.

Lindsey stands up and stretches a little, padding around to pick up her clothes scattered on the floor and folds them neatly into a little pile, her red Portland Thorns windbreaker, her jeans. She puts on her T-shirt, though, slightly wrinkled and a little sweaty.

It’s hot. The air seems to envelop her here, stick to her body and not go anywhere, holding her down like a prisoner. She wonders how Emily can deal with it.

She wonders _ how _ Emily deals with it. With all of it, really. They still talk, sometimes on the phone when they get the chance, in scattered private texts or in group chats with other friends, but Emily never tells her much about Orlando specifically, just that it’s going good. She always uses the same word. Good.

It sure looks good. Lindsey has seen the photos, the beach pictures, the Disney pictures, all of the food. Lindsey has seen videos of Emily ribbing around with Alex, or exploring with the Australians. Lindsey sees them with Ellie when they go out to all their usual places just the two of them now. She looks like she’s having fun. Her energy fits right in with sunny Orlando, with the whole vibe of the city. Like a child at Disneyworld. 

She didn’t look like it at their game, though. Lindsey didn’t get to do their handshake like they promised, because Emily was on the bench, watching Portland destroy Orlando in the first half by three goals. And when she was subbed on at the half, she glanced over at Lindsey, but her hands remained at her sides. 

Ten minutes later, she was unable to stop a goal from Sophia Smith on a classic Tobin Heath set piece.

And Lindsey knows Emily. Knows her so well it hurts. She knows that Emily is adjusting, and she does that by herself. Lindsey can see her getting used to the heat, fanning herself with her shirt, to the team when she sits on the bench quietly, to losing. She hugs Lindsey after the game and they pose for the camera with a thumbs up but Lindsey knows that Emily isn’t going to post that photo. Lindsey doesn’t mind, it means that she can keep it to herself.

And she knows how Emily is going to wake up hot and sweaty, stretching and automatically complaining about the heat, pulling her tangled hair into a lopsided bun. She’s seen it before, in lazy sleepovers, in hotel rooms, in naps on barely air conditioned buses. She doesn’t know if she wants to see it again, now.

Emily looks so peaceful as she’s sleeping in the messed up bed in just shorts and a tank top, hastily put on before bed from what she could find on the floor. She’s curled inwards, hair resting on the pillow. Lindsey used to think that Emily would take up space as she slept, arms splayed out clumsily just like when she plays soccer, kicking and turning, unable to ever turn the energy off. But Emily sleeps small, tucked in, subdued. The only thing that remains is that her open mouth is slightly upturned, a ghost of her cheeky smile.

Lindsey looks away from the image.

She instead steps outside onto the balcony, hoping that no one sees her just in her underwear and a wrinkled shirt. The balcony is smaller than the one Lindsey has, the one Emily used to have, in Portland. Its just big enough for the dumb inflatable couch they used in the river once, and a singular plant. Lindsey sits down on the couch. It needs a little air.

It’s just the smallest amount cooler outside. Less stuffy in the night air. The palm trees rustle in the breeze, and there are the sounds of cars in the distance. The street below is empty, and one single street light blinks on and off, like a star.

Lindsey remembers walking down that street with Emily, after the game. They found each other outside of Exploria Stadium without having to ask. Emily smiled at her then, the first real smile that Lindsey had seen since she had landed in Orlando and it felt brighter than the red sun setting above them. Then Emily led her to this small restaurant by her apartment, crammed into a tiny table against a wall. And they talked. They talked and everything clicked and Lindsey distinctly remembers going to the bathroom and smiling at herself in the mirror, so relieved that everything was still there. That they didn’t lose it. It was exhilarating somehow, even though it was just a quiet dinner outside, bugs chirping as the sky slowly got darker.

The only mar in what was a perfect evening was how often Emily would check her phone, quickly typing out a response then placing it face down on the table next to her food. Lindsey knew from a slightly sick feeling, like the kind you get where you eat too much chocolate, that they were ditching everybody right now. Or, mostly Emily. Lindsey isn’t that close with the Orlando Aussies. She doesn’t know how close Emily is to them either but it seems like they’re tight. 

After Emily paid the bill for them, she led Lindsey to the short walk to her apartment, down the same street Lindsey is staring at below the balcony.

“Just two minutes,” she said, eyes trained on Lindsey. “And _ I _don’t need anyone to pick me up.”

Lindsey just laughed in response, ignoring something shaky in her hands as she shoved them into her pockets.

“I didn’t need anyone to pick me up. _ You _ felt the need to pick _ me _ up.”

And then Emily shrugged and gave a shy little smile as she unlocked the door to her apartment clumsily.

“So, this is it.”

It was more unpacked than Lindsey expected. Maybe she dreamt up in her head that Emily hadn’t settled in, that at the drop of a hat she was willing to move back to Portland, play on the Thorns with Lindsey again, and be with Lindsey again. 

Maybe even kiss Lindsey again.

Then Lindsey looked at Emily and Emily stared right back, and she said, “I missed you.”

She said that she missed her.

The minute Emily said that, eyes blue and face flushed, Lindsey knew that she wanted to kiss her.

And she did, took a couple of steps right from the doorway into the foyer and kissed her in the middle of the hallway.

Once they pulled apart, Lindsey said breathlessly, “I missed you too.”

Maybe it all went downhill from there. They quickly undressed, backed clumsily into Emily’s bedroom until they hit the bed and fell over.

“Em-“ Lindsey started in the middle of Emily working her way down her chest. Emily only hummed a response.

“Emily, I-”

“Linds. Stop talking.”

“Em-“

“Lindsey, please.”

Emily stopped what she was doing to look up with pleading eyes, and Lindsey couldn’t do anything but stare back.

“Lindsey,” Emily said softly. “I just need you here, okay?” Her voice cracked in the middle, and she was gripping Lindsey so hard that her skin was starting to turn white.

Lindsey paused, swallowed, and said, “Okay.” She closed her eyes, and let everything just happen.

Afterwards, in bed, Emily mumbled sleepily, holding onto Lindsey, and said it again, half drowned out by the sounds of fireworks in the distance, from one of the millions of places they could possibly go off in Orlando.

“I want you here.”

And maybe it’s the openness of the air versus the stuffiness inside of the apartment that smells of humidity, or the emptiness of the streets, or the silent heat, but Lindsey finally allows herself to cry, tears dripping down her face like sweat. She wipes them from her cheeks and stands up, leaning on the edge of the balcony, breathing in the air of Orlando.

If she strains her eyes enough, she thinks she can see the lights of Disney World in the distance, warm and brilliant, but almost foreboding, a supernova in the dark night. Like a whole other planet just twenty minutes away. Lindsey has never been there, as much as she dreamt about it as a kid, but she hears that it’s amazing. Magical, even. Her trips to Orlando have never been for just vacationing, always caught up in her job. Her whole life. She doesn't even like Disney that much.

She starts to go back inside to force herself to fall asleep.

It might not even be Disney World. It might just be her wishful thinking.

**Author's Note:**

> request me @ broilbaby on twitter! pls. i dont bite and theres like a 90% chance i'll accept


End file.
